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Their training never prepared them for this.
It was understood that their training would avoid situations like this, so there was no need to explore the “what ifs”.
It was stupid, honestly, that they wound up like this. Jason knew better. Jason was the reigning champion of the “reel in dumbfuck emotions” game. A casual near-apocalypse and “holy fuck we didn’t die” adrenaline high shouldn’t have been enough to make him throw every sane option out the window.
But here they were.
Jason glanced at the mess of black hair and gangly limbs sprawled across the bed and held back a sigh. Tim snuffled softly in his sleep, all gentle and adorable and innocent and Bruce was gonna fucking kill him. Dickweed, actually, was probably gonna be the chosen executioner.
Jason gently slid out from under the covers and quickly got to work gathering up his clothes. He crawled out the window of his own damn apartment and landed on the fire escape outside. He’d just…lurk…through Crime Alley until Tim got the hint and left.
It wasn’t that he regretted it, exactly. It just shouldn’t have happened.
Tim was barely eighteen, with a shitload of hero worship hidden behind his tentative approval of Jason. He wore his entire heart on his sleeve, after he got past his own emotional shit and actually remembered to react. And Jason knew when Tim saw Jason now, it was tethered to that sweet, innocent wonder of childhood.
Jason was three years his senior. He lived through three lifetimes before Tim even saw sixteen. He knew better.
It was better if they just forgot about it and moved on.
Jason felt more than heard someone drop behind him. If he wasn’t six stories up, perched on a rooftop, he might have had a different reaction. Instead, he just rolled his eyes and continued to focus on the Not At All Suspicious Man slinking down the sidewalk, hand forcefully tucked into his coat and head craning around every few steps.
“You still have the Xrishi gun?” Dick said, pleasant as ever. Jason’s skin crawled, the way it was wont to do at Dick’s oppressive chipperness.
Jason just grunted.
“Lantern saw you stow it,” Dick continued.
“Eyes shut, Goldie,” Jason bit out as he lined up a shot. Jason didn’t even have to look to know Dick obeyed in the most theatrical method possible. The bullet sang as it tunneled through the air and burrowed into the man’s ankle. He screeched horribly and fell to the ground. Jason finally turned to look at Dick, who indeed had his hands splayed over his blue domino, thumbs neatly tucked in his ears.
“What d’ya want with it?” Jason asked. Dick’s hands returned to neutral.
“Red Robin wants to analyze it. There’s a chance it contains Kryptonite or other Earth-based tech.”
Against his will, Jason’s whole body seized up. Pale flesh writhing in pleasure, soft, breathy moans of ecstasy, nails scraping down his back filled his senses for a moment.
“You guys aren’t fighting again?” Dick frowned at him.
“I’ll get it back, right?” Jason said. Better for Dick to draw his own conclusions than for Jason to accidentally out himself.
“You really need to stop antagonizing him, Jay.”
Jason ignored him, electing instead to step off the lip of the roof and grapple neatly to the ground. He was most of the way to the dude he downed when Dick touched down.
“Hood.”
“I’ll play nice, Birdie.” Jason rolled his eyes and kicked the guy so he was slightly more skyward. He was whimpering loudly and let out a muffled shriek at Jason’s arrival. “Scale of one to ten. How likely is it that you’re the bastard stalking Wendy Jenkins?”
The man just stared at Jason. Jason carefully placed his foot on the man’s shattered ankle and pressed down.
“ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! ” he sobbed. “ She’s just so pretty and nice and we’re meant to be she just doesn’t know— ” He screamed horribly as Jason bared down harder.
“So, you break in, take shit from her laundry, and write her nasty notes to, what, woo her?” Jason scoffed. “Buddy, that ain’t love. That’s sick.”
He pressed the majority of his weight on the man’s ankle as he crouched low. “And, see, you’re real fucking lucky Nighwing was out on a stroll tonight. If it were just you and me…well, let’s just say body bags are a nice way to see the river.” He produced a knife and carefully showed it to him before cutting open his pocket; he used the tip of the blade to extract what looked like women’s panties.
“See, I should castrate you. String you up and let people stone the pervert. Douse your hands in acid. Shit like that. But, we have company. Now, I know Nightwing doesn’t quite approve of my approach, but I also know he sure as shit isn’t for your sick fuck ways. Wing?”
Dick crossed his arms and scowled a little. Jason could recognize it as his “disappointed big-brother-face”, but doubted the bastard on the ground was interpreting it in that way.
“So. We have two choices, the way I see it. You, Gregory Lewis of 415 South Fifth Street, can either take this as a polite little lesson on things like boundaries and consent, or we can wait until you get home from your shift at Johnson’s Grocery and get it sorted then.”
“ I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again, I’ll be good, I’ll apologize, I’ll— ”
Jason dug his heel in hard enough to feel bone splinters grind against themselves. “Glad we had this chat, then.” He stepped off him, stepped over him, and strode down the street.
“C’mon, Tall, Dark, and Spandexed. Nightly patrol’s gonna be round in a few,” Jason called behind him.
Dick quickly caught up with him. “I didn’t know you handled stuff like that,” he said softly.
“Gotta look out for all crimes, Dickiebird. Not just the ones on the books,” Jason said with a shrug.
“Was that—”
“No, Dickweed, it wasn’t ‘personal’.” Jason indulged in exaggerated air quotes. “Roy overheard some chatter about a serial stalker. Looked eerily close to a case a bit back that wound up with pretty grisly murders. Roy did the legwork, but Lian’s been fighting a bad flu. Opportunity came a-knockin’, and here we are.”
Dick murmured something that almost sounded like, Proud of you, Jay-bird , but Jason wasn’t insane enough to think that was accurate.
“So, Timbit needs the gun?” Jason said as he carefully buried the underwear in a dumpster. Dick watched him for a moment, the way he extracted out what looked like a grease rag and a banana peel and used both to hide the navy-colored fabric. He dug a bit, then tucked it in the dent he’d created, and finally moved a mountain of trash over it. Good way to keep it from scavengers and creeps—Dick had to admit.
“Yeah. He kind of won’t sleep until he’s cracked it, and the gun’s the only thing holding him up,” Dick said.
“When has Tim ever slept?” Jason hated the way his voice sounded fond. Because he knew what it could take for Tim to sleep. Jason coughed. “Uh, so, yeah. I’ll get it to you.”
“You could drop by the Batcave…?” Dick half-offered.
That was a bad idea for a number of reasons. The first five being Tim, and the remaining reasons being Bruce. Jason generally tried to avoid the Batcave. Even last week’s apocalypse wasn’t enough to get him there.
“You can pick it up Tuesday,” Jason said flatly.
“B or T?” Dick asked.
“You,” Jason deadpanned.
“C’mon, Jay. Can’t your big brother care about you?”
“I’ve got work, Dickie. I don’t need Nightwing hovering.”
“I could help!”
“What, just bat your baby blues as you frown at them? Give them a little show?” Jason scoffed. “We’re in Crime Alley, birdie. Shit don’t get done til the bastards are on the ground bleeding.”
“I work in Bludhaven , Jay.”
“Dickiebird, that’s easy mode . If B doesn’t think it’s an irredeemable shit hole, then that’s a hell of an improvement over this cesspit of humanity.”
Dick just sighed. It was a fight they’d had a million times. And it was the easiest way to get Dick to fuck off; his perfect ego would get bruised and he’d want to go sulk somewhere.
“No killing, okay baby bird?”
Jason very pointedly crossed his fingers. “I swear, Goldie.”
Dick frowned at him, but shot his grappling hook into the air. “No bodies in the river, at least. It’s an ecological refuge!” he shouted as he swung away.
Fucking Dickiebird.
It was Tuesday. Jason was lounging across the couch, beer in hand. Roy and Kori had just left. They’d had a rousing game of Cards Against Humanity, and had continued to discuss ongoing cases. It had been damn close to a perfect day.
But then a knock sounded on his door.
He’d really hoped Roy and Kori would have stayed longer. He could have guiltlessly kicked Dickie out because “Kor still wants to shoot fire when she sees your face” was generally a great excuse. Messy breakups were the best cover, in his opinion. Or, at least, messy breakups that weren’t your messy breakup.
He tipped his head back, summoned his inner strength, and drawled, “It’s open.”
The door swung open, and Jason’s world stopped.
Pale skin, dark-rimmed eyes, messy black hair.
Fucking dickweed of a Dickiebird .
“It’s there-ish,” Jason said, gesturing vaguely. Tim glared at him, but followed Jason’s mediocre directions.
“Hey, I’ve been needing someone to check the crackability of that safe. You’re good with that, right?”
Tim spun around to glare at him harder. “That’s it ?” he hissed.
Jason just looked blankly at him.
“God, you’re an asshole,” he snarled.
“Woah, hey, Timbo—”
“It’s been two fucking weeks, Jay. Two. I—you—didn’t it mean anything?”
Oh .
Okay.
So, this wasn’t a “forget about it” thing.
“Of course it did. It’s just—it shouldn’t have happened. We were all keyed up, and you were there, and—”
“It meant everything to me, Jason! I wanted it! I wanted— us .” Tim ruffled his hair irately. “I didn’t give you my virginity for a pity fuck ! I thought you knew that!”
Jason gaped at him, at a full loss for words.
“I’m sorry— virginity ?” No. No. No . Jason did not fuck this up that much.
Tim glared at Jason. “I told you I’d never done it before.”
“I thought you meant the after-apocalypse fuck. Or, like, with a guy . I didn’t think—”
“Of course you didn’t. You never think .”
“Shit. Tim—Tim, look at me. I fucked up. So much. Okay? I thought it was a mutual ‘holy-shit-we’re-alive’ thing that was just a quick one and done. And then I freaked, and I left. That’s a me thing, Tim. And I fucked up. But, Tim, look at me. It doesn’t mean I don’t want the same as you. It doesn’t mean I’m rejecting you. It doesn’t mean shit, other than I’m a fucking idiot. And I’m sorry. I am so sorry, Tim.”
Jason could see the conflict warring behind Tim’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, Tim,” Jason repeated softly.
“So you would have stayed.” Tim’s voice was flat.
“If I hadn’t thought it was a one-time deal, I would have stayed, Tim. I would have held you until you woke up and made you breakfast and would have tried to get you not to leave.” Jason looked at him. It might not be exactly right, what they had between them. But it was honest. It was true. Tim might have to learn to disconnect the Jason of Then from the Jason of Now. Jason might have to learn to trust and appreciate the people who cared for him. But they could work through both of those things—together.
“I need time, Jay.”
Jason nodded. This was…well, it wasn’t good , but it was something . It was better than that awful hurt in Tim’s eyes.
“Okay,” he said softly, and a foreign feeling filled his chest. It was light and warm and…hopeful. He liked seeing Tim in his bed. He liked making Tim happy and hearing the sweet, blissful noises his perfect lips could render. He… liked Tim. He didn’t want to ruin something before it even had a chance to begin.
“The safe?”
“Down the hall, first door on the right. It’s in the closet. Code is Hood’s birthday.” He realized he probably should have elaborated more, but Tim just nodded and disappeared. He emerged minutes later with the giant alien ray gun in his grasp. “It’s my birthday. The—uh, the day Red Hood came to be,” Tim said softly.
“Oh. Uh. Sorry.”
“I like it.” And then Tim smiled softly at him. “It’s nice to share something important with you.” Something you can’t resent me for was left unspoken—but Jason understood. Even if Red Hood wasn’t innocent, the association was; Red Hood and Timothy Jackson Drake were wholly different entities.
“Then, I like it too.” Jason smiled back at him.
“Can I kiss you?” The words were awkward, rushed; Tim blushed immediately afterwards. “Sorry. That’s weird. I said I wanted time, but here I am and it’s weird, isn’t it. It’s so weird.”
“I’d like to kiss you. If you want it.” Jason’s eyes couldn’t focus, darting around anywhere but Tim. He heard the footsteps, felt the gentle heat of breath, heard the soft thud as the gun met the floor. Tim’s lips were just as soft and wonderful as before.
The kiss was quick and bordering on chaste. Jason could barely register it before Tim was pulling away.
“I’ll, uh—we’ll talk when I bring this back, okay?”
“Whatever you want, Tim.” Jason managed to force himself to look into Tim’s perfect blue eyes. “I’m here.”
Tim blushed a brilliant red, but jerked a nod as he picked up the gun.
It was a week later. Tim had texted him a few times—simple, nothing texts. Jason was starting to get antsy. He didn’t know if he could handle it if Tim backed out now—not after giving that damnable hope that they could be something. The more he mulled it around in his head, the more he genuinely hoped it would work.
It’s probably (definitely) why Jason wound up buying half a florist’s worth of flowers, and a couple bottles of sparkling apple juice (and one fairly nice bottle of champagne, just in case) when Tim finally texted and said he was finished with the gun he’d nicked. Jason covered pretty much every surface of his apartment with bouquets and actually went out and bought actual champagne flutes. No more wine from mugs; Tim deserved better.
Also, they were infinitely more satisfying to shatter—if everything decided to go down the shitter.
The doorbell rang precisely at two, and Jason eagerly opened it. And then looked straight down. Barely five feet tall, but enough rage to fill thirty grown men, was stood in front of him.
“The hell are you doing here, Demon Brat?” Jason snapped.
“Drake has finished his analysis. Father sends a reminder to not actually use it on anyone,” Damian said primly. He reached behind himself and pulled the Xrishi gun from his back.
“Where’s Tim?”
“Busy. Father has decided to fully merge Drake’s company with his. He will not be available until the tedium has finished.” Damian tilted his head slightly. “Were you expecting company, Todd? Perhaps of the female persuasion?”
Jason glanced back at his apartment. It was festooned with roses and lilies and sunflowers and baby’s breath and tulips and a host of other blooms. He might have gone a little overboard.
But, for Damian’s sake, he scoffed. “Saved a florist’s life. It had consequences.”
“Tt,” Damian clicked. “And they happened to know your address?”
“You don’t ask about my boyfriend, I don’t tell Bruce about the Tower Incident.” Jason crossed his arms and glared at Damian.
Damian clicked his tongue again. “I do hope he isn’t allergic to pollen. Drake has been rather insufferable in the spring. Hopefully your beau isn’t as badly afflicted.”
“God, does it actually hurt to talk like a kid for you?” Jason teased. Damian just glared at him. He tapped his foot twice and his face made an odd expression.
“I may not deign to lower myself to a simpleton’s standards, but I am capable, Todd. For example: here is your gun. Don’t be dumb. My dad says hi.” Damian’s voice went flat for the last bit, with a distinctive Lower Gotham accent flavoring his words.
“Yeah, okay, definitely creepier, Demon Brat,” Jason said as he finally accepted the gun Damian offered.
“I am humbled by your input, Todd,” Damian snarked. “May your date go well.” His eyes flicked to the flower-festooned apartment one more time; he clicked his tongue before turning on his heel and leaving.
Jason couldn’t help but wonder if Mama Guadalupe in Apartment 4C would appreciate some flowers. She might even give him some of her homemade arepas or tamales.
The only thing stupider, in Jason’s opinion, than bringing a knife to a gunfight was bringing acid to a gunfight. Or, really, bringing acid to any fight. Best case scenario, you spilled it on yourself. Worst case scenario, you were fighting the Red Hood, who was covered head to toe in material that wasn’t vulnerable to nitric acid.
Gothamites were their own damn breed, holy hell.
Jason had no small pleasure in plunging his knife through the bastard’s gloved hand (whoever told him dish gloves were enough was a fucking idiot ), immediately kicking away the canister of HNO3. It clattered into a sewer drain, and Jason couldn’t help but hope he’d be able to grab and contain it before it fell in. He might not like Killer Croc or Grundy or Clayface or any of the freaks who lived in the sewers, but it could potentially start a whole ass turf war and pointed fingers and civilian casualties.
But, for now, he kicked the guy’s leg hard enough to dislocate his shin from his knee before using the knife currently spearing his hand as a way to draw his wrist close enough to grab. He ripped the knife out and twisted his arm behind his back.
“Look, I don’t know what fucked up world you’re from, but have basic rules here in Gotham,” Jason growled. “Two Face and Joker have dibs on acid. Little gangster wannabe fuckfaces have knives and guns. And everyone runs from the big bad Red Hood and don’t try to ruin his favorite leather jacket with acid stains.”
“Your favorite is still at your apartment,” a voice said behind him.
“Little busy, birdie,” Jason grunted.
“Tranq him, then,” Tim said.
“You got a spare?”
“Nope.” Tim almost sounded like he was smiling.
“Fuck. Left boot, inner pouch.” Jason heard Tim move, felt lithe fingers against his leg, then the press of a warm body as Tim leaned on him to plunge the dart into the man’s neck. Jason immediately let go enough to fish a tablet out of his utility belt, force the man’s head his way, and press it onto his tongue before dropping him.
“Double dose?”
“Antidote. That dart’s equal parts loopy juice and fear toxin. Good for interrogation, not so good for street psychos. He won’t be waking up with his own slideshow of horrors.” Jason dusted himself off, then turned to face Tim. Who was in full civvies.
“Timbit. The fuck are you doing in Crime Alley, dressed like that?”
Tim just smiled. “Looking for you. I dropped by the apartment, but figured out you were patrolling.”
“And you, what, didn’t want to wait?” Jason’s eyes flicked over Tim’s clothes—the clear way they stated he had money—before turning to grab the acid.
“Damian told me about your ‘boyfriend’,” Tim said, still sounding like he was smiling. Jason froze. Tim was the world’s greatest detective, but he also had abandonment issues bad enough that Jason looked well-adjusted.
“Yeah?” Jason managed out, turning to look at Tim. His entire face was one big smile.
“Yeah. He thinks it's a florist, but I think it’s a shame that gremlin told me my relationship status before me.” Tim stepped forward, just enough to make a point. Jason hesitantly met him halfway.
“I wasn’t sure if you wanted—”
Tim looped his fingers into Jason’s belt loops, rolling his lip in his teeth as he stared at the chin of Jason’s helmet. Jason’s heart was racing. This was insane—purely insane. But he reached up to unlatch his helmet, and kept it in one hand as he placed a hand on the small of Tim’s back and leaned close. Tim barely looked up before surging forward and kissing Jason—hard. His tongue swept Jason’s lips, and Jason’s mouth dropped open to invite him in.
They absolutely, under no circumstances, should not be making out in the middle of Crime Alley. Tim Drake was a walking target, and Hood’s image could be ruined.
But…Tim’s lips were soft, and his tongue was skilled, and god had Jason wanted this. Jason tugged Tim closer, pressed the kiss deeper. Quiet, needy moans fluttered from Tim’s lips. Jason was fully tempted to press Tim into the wall, unbuckle those perfectly pressed slacks, and draw even needier sounds from him.
But Tim deserved better than that.
Jason wanted to give him better than that.
He pulled away, lips feeling empty the instant Tim’s were on his; Tim tried to chase after him, but Jason let himself take half a step back. “H-home,” Jason managed out. “Let’s go back home.”
Tim’s eyes alit, tongue running over kiss-swollen lips. “Can’t be seen with me?” Tim teased.
“If I had my way, everyone would hear the way you moan for me,” Jason said, low and gravelly. “But you’re a fucking target right now, and I really, really want to—” Jason broke off. Fuck wasn’t the right word, for once. It was too coarse, too harsh for what Jason hoped was between them. Make love was too sappy for something so new. “I want you,” left his lips. And, from the flustered, needy, desperate look on Tim’s face, it seemed like Jason had chosen the right words.
“Fuck,” Tim breathed.
Jason slipped his helmet back on, wrapped an arm around Tim’s waist, and grappled off into the night.
Later, in the early light of dawn, tangled in rumpled bed sheets, Jason got to look at Tim’s perfect, sleeping face. Tim snuffled softly in his sleep, all gentle and adorable and innocent and Jason knew he was his. Jason would move mountains to make Tim happy, do anything to keep him safe, and hold him as tight as he could without smothering him.
His heart was warm and full, and it was as thrilling as it was terrifying. But Jason was ready. Tim was worth it. Love was worth it.